


The Mysterious Disappearance of Jonathan Toews

by Showtime (Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson)



Series: To Complete [15]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Captain Brent Seabrook, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8240362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/pseuds/Showtime
Summary: It's been four years since Jonathan Toews disappeared without a trace from his Chicago home. Two CCTV recordings of him since he disappeared, and nothing after. Four years to the day, and Patrick Kane could swear he's drowning in grief.But it's been 1460 days too late, and Patrick is determined to find out what happened on Halloween 2012.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been four years to the day.  
  
Four years since he had disappeared, four years since his smile had gone forever, four years since the hole in the team had been ripped open.  
  
The Hawks trudged off the ice, thunder above them over the loss as Quenville stood in the locker room already.  
  
“The hell happened out there?”  
  
No one spoke. The new prospects looked around, confusion on their face, as confused at their coach was.  
  
Brent didn’t open his mouth. Duncan didn’t clear his throat. Artemi wouldn’t look at Patrick.  
  
Patrick didn’t look away from the locker he was staring at.  
  
It took for Quenville to slam his fist on the lockers to make Patrick jump out his skin, looking up with wide, tearful eyes.  
  
“It’s been four years to the day, Coach.” Duncan’s voice was a harsh whisper, as if saying the words physically pained him.  
  
It physically pained them all, but Patrick most of all.  
  
Patrick’s eyes closed and he stood sharply, pushing past Quenville to get to the showers behind him. Brent went to go after him, only to be stopped by Artemi, a soft _don’t_ filtering to him.  
  
The team continued with their after game cool down. By the time they headed to the showers, Patrick was gone.

 

-xox-

 

Patrick had rushed home the moment he had finished washing and changing, knowing that he might get his ass kicked tomorrow for not cooling down or staying around for the post game recap. Seabs would let him off and he knew Quenville would be somewhat understanding, but the truth was, it had been four years. He needed to buck up his ideas.  
  
Sighing heavily, he collapsed on the couch, turning the television on. He went to flick immediately, but, of course, the news channel was on, and the story was already on screen.  
  
_It’s been four years since the disappearance – which the police have remarked as mysterious at best – of Chicago Blackhawks Captain Jonathan Toews. The now 28 year old man was 24 at the time of his disappearance four years ago, from his own Chicago front yard._  
_Jonathan Toews was last seen by Blackhawks teammate, and boyfriend,_ _Patrick Kane. It’s reported that Kane went inside, disappearing for a late Halloween drink, and when he returned, the man was nowhere to be seen._  
  
_That’s right, Janice; he just seemed to vanish into thin air. Kane said that he though that Toews was playing a Halloween prank on him, and that he would reappear, maybe in some sort of mask or costume to scare the man, yet, he never came back. After an hour and a half, Kane called the police._  
  
_Toews was reported as wearing a Blackhawks hoodie in black, loose, gray jogging bottoms, and was bare foot when he was last seen by Kane, although CCTV footage caught him in a department store two days later._  
  
Patrick flinched as the grainy video footage was brought up. He watched his boyfriend glance around, as though he were scared, grabbing a shirt from a rack before disappearing from the CCTV. It skipped ahead, showing him paying at the counter and Patrick turned away from the HD screen.  
  
_Toews was seen purchasing a shirt, jeans and boots, which is the reason that Patrick Kane was seen as a suspect by the police. Kane reported that Toews’ wallet was on the kitchen counter, yet when the police were called, the morning after his disappearance, no wallet was found._  
  
_Toews was seen two days after the mall footage, showing him trespassing on rail lines as he climbed a fence, ran across them, and then over the parallel fence – again, barefooted. His movements are frantic, and he looks behind himself numerous times as if he was being chased._  
  
_Since then, there has been no footage of Jonathan Toews, although there have been numerous supposed ‘sightings’ of the man, from as close to home as Chicago, to his home country of Canada, and even all the way in Europe._  
  
_There are many rumours that he upped and started a new life elsewhere, away from Chicago. Others state that he was kidnapped by a cult, maybe a serial killer, or maybe even was kidnapped by someone looking to make him a hostage, before he escaped._  
  
_I don’t know about you, Janice, but I personally find it weird that if a man ran off to start a new life, he’d leave his dog behind._  
  
The screen showed a picture of Patrick, his arm around Betsey, smiling down at the pup who looked up with a dangling tongue and a wagging tail. He had posted it to Twitter, two weeks after Jonathan had disappeared, with the caption, _we miss you, come home soon_.  
  
_Blackhawks teammate Patrick Kane currently has possession of Betsey._  
  
_If you have any news about Jonathan Toews and or his disappearance then ring the number on screen now to help in any way you can._  
  
Patrick closed his eyes and took a breath, turning the television off before it went onto the sports segment, knowing that the Hawks game would be in the eye of the reporters. They would scrutinise the game footage, before eventually giving the team sympathy to it being the Anniversary.  
  
Betsey shuffled in Patrick’s lap, barking a little bit. Smiling, he looked down at her and petted her head gently.  
  
“You hungry, girl?”  
  
She barked again and jumped off the couch, running in circles as she rushed towards the kitchen of Patrick’s apartment. Patrick followed her, wincing as she ran into the wall.  
  
“Betsey?!”  
  
The dog sat there, dazed, before jumping up with a bark and rushing through the door this time. Patrick couldn’t help but smile as he followed her, preparing her food and setting it down on the ground. Betsey gave a small bark which Patrick took as a thank you, before she started chowing down.  
  
Smiling softly, Patrick watched her, leaning on the side. He glanced at the clock, wincing when he saw it was already gone midnight.  
  
“Have to get you walked before we head to bed, huh? Just a short one so you can do your business.”  
  
Betsey didn’t even look at him. Sighing a little, Patrick headed to the window to stare outside, staring at the people on the side walk, making it home early Saturday night from a night of drinking. They looked like ants; tiny figures moving backwards and forwards. He could see the doorman of Trump Hotel, standing at the curb in front of the building.  
  
He felt a bump at his ankle and looked down to see Betsey and he smiled. “You need to stop wolfing your food down, girl.”  
  
She yelped, jumping up and leaning on his leg. “You wanna go for a walk, girl?”  
  
She immediately barked and rushed to the front door and Patrick laughed, following her and grabbing her lead on the way. He secured it to her collar quickly and headed outside, making sure his keys were in his pocket.

 

-xox-

 

The dark streets were almost empty the further you got from the majority of the bars, and Patrick relaxed in the silence. It was slightly haunting, and he wished he had thought to grab his headphones on his way out, but this was what was happening now.  
  
Hindsight; he’d have to remember next time.  
  
His footsteps thudded softly on the pavement, and the soft clicking of Betsey’s claws on the concrete underfoot was gentle comfort.  
  
Patrick turned a corner, staring at the ground, and gave out a yell when he walked straight into someone, landing him on the floor. Betsey immediately started barking at the person and Patrick went to pull her back – when he realised it was in excitement.  
  
He looked up, and his heart stopped.  
  
Jonathan Toews was staring down at him in disbelief. There was a beard, scraggly, matted as though he weren’t taking care of it, there was marks of hard living on his face, and a few scars here and there – but there was no mistaking those hypnotising brown eyes.  
  
It was definitely his Jonny.  
  
“J-Jon?”  
  
Before Patrick could even blink, the man had turned and was already running down the street.  
  
“Jonny wait!”  
  
Patrick scrambled to his feet and immediately chased after him, Betsey running as fast as she could by his feet. His feet pounded on the side walk, his heart beat echoed in his hearing, his breaths rattled in his chest.  
  
Jonny was _alive_. He was _here_ in _Chicago_. Tears welled up in Patrick’s eyes as he followed Jonathan’s gray hoodie – holed in the elbows – around a corner and continued sprinting after him.  
  
Questions flooded his mind and he just needed them answered. Even if Jonathan got up and left forever after that, he just needed to know _why_ , he needed to know _what happened_.  
  
His legs were beginning to ache, and Patrick regretted not doing his cool down exercise with the rest of the team as he turned a corner, and ran almost straight into a group of people. He struggled around them, but his heart dropped as he realised Jonathan had disappeared.  
  
Frantically, he let out a strangled yell of the man’s name, but there was no response.  
  
He stood where he was for a good ten minutes, eyes searching all the time, but there was no denying it.  
  
Jonathan Toews had disappeared again.  
  
Heartbroken, exhausted, and highly upset, Patrick turned back the way he had come, his feet barely leaving the side walk as he headed back home.  
  
Too upset to even look up, he missed the man in the pale gray hoodie watching him, hidden in the shadows of an alley.


	2. Chapter 2

“Patrick, look I know your upset but would you please just _look_ like you’re paying attention?”  
  
Patrick looked around to stare, dead eyed, at Brent, stood in front of the team by the board. He heaved a sigh and nodded, rubbing his temple.  
  
He hadn’t slept at all last night – how could he – and was struggling to stay awake during the team meeting. His mind was full of questions, all of them swarming around his head. Every time he tried to ignore them, they seemed to scream louder; louder and louder until Patrick had no choice but to hide himself away in his hoodie. He kept his eyes closed, seeing Jonathan’s face in his head, swimming in and out of his periphery vision until he felt like he had to.  
  
Slowly, he stood up, and Brent stopped talking.  
  
Silence filled the room as everyone looked at Patrick, waiting for what he was going to do or say.  
  
He had to take a large breath before he finally looked up, staring Brent directly in the eyes.  
  
“I saw Jonny last night.”  
  
There was a soft murmuring that went through the team before Duncan cleared his throat. “Patrick that’s not-”  
  
“I _saw_ him. He looked different but… it was his eyes. I know Jonny, I know him. It was him I swear.”  
  
“Patrick… Where?”  
  
“I… I was walking Betsey. I turned the corner away from North Wabash and I walked into someone. I fell to the ground and Betsey was barking at them – but it wasn’t defensive, it was… It was like she saw someone and was excited. I looked up and… and Jonny was staring down at me. He turned around and ran and I chased after him, but I lost him around two corners because I got caught in a group of people.”  
  
Patrick sank into his chair, closing his eyes, the image of Jonathan bright and vivid in his mind. “It was him, and it was _real_.”  
  
Silence followed the end of his words, and Patrick kept his eyes tightly shut, knowing he would more than likely cry if he opened them. _What I wouldn’t give for one of Jonny’s hugs right now…_  
  
“Pat...” It was Brent’s voice, much closer than before, and finally, Patrick dared to look up. “Patrick look… Jonny’s disappearance was hard on all of us. We know it was harder for you, with you two dating but… Jonny’s gone. The police declared him legally dead-”  
  
“No body was ever found, Brent.” Patrick shocked himself at how level his voice was. There was no hint of despair, anger, nor hope. “No body was ever found, so, legally, he’s still alive.”  
  
“Patrick-”  
  
“He’s alive. Even if I hadn’t seen him last night, I still wouldn’t give up on him. He’s alive, and he was there, by my apartment building. I don’t know what that means, maybe he was checking on me… maybe he was just walking by, maybe he’s trying to come back, I don’t know. But I _saw_ him and he is _alive_.”  
  
Brent sighed and looked away for a moment. “Pat-”  
  
“He’s telling truth.”  
  
Brent turned to stare at Artemi, as did everyone else on the team. The Russian awkwardly shifted in his seat.  
  
“I see Jonny, other week. I was in restaurant with family when they visit. He walked past but I did not think it Jonny. It look like him but… different.”  
  
“He has a really scraggly beard, and his face is all scared up?”  
  
Artemi nodded at Patrick, clearing his throat. “I call Jonny’s name but he not turn around.”  
  
Patrick nodded a little and the team sat in silence.  
  
“We need to tell the police. Two people on the team seeing Jon in just a few weeks can’t be coincidence and it can’t be hallucinations at this rate.”  
  
Patrick smiled softly at Artemi, not entirely sure if his team mate was telling the truth or not, but it made him relax more, knowing he hadn’t started imagining things in his grief.

 

- xox-

 

Patrick got home from being interviewed by the police, once more about his boyfriend’s disappearance. Sighing heavily, he leant on the door to his fridge-freezer before he opened it, grabbing a Gatorade from inside.  
  
Training had been cancelled. The police had come. Artemi and Patrick had been interrogated for hours before the police had finally let them go.  
  
They didn’t need to say it, they said they’d look into it… but their tone suggested they thought the two had been lying.  
  
Patrick moved through to the living room, moving Betsey to her bed rather than the couch before he collapsed into it, disheartened. He _knew_ he had seen Jonny, he _knew_ it deep down, in every single way possible, that it had been his boyfriend.  
  
He covered his eyes with his arm, his hand holding his Gatorade dangling off the couch, his knuckles brushing the floor.  
  
He wanted this four year nightmare to be over. He wanted it to be like it was.  
  
He would lay on the couch like this after a loss, and he would hear Jonny in the shower. He’d listen intently, listening to the man going over game tactics before he would start singing. He normally always dropped a shampoo bottle, cursing in French a little before he picked it up and carried on with the tune. Patrick remembered that it was normally a song by Christine and the Queens. Jonathan loved her songs, and Patrick was always amazed at his ability to sing along in French so fluently before he would have to remind himself that Jonathan was bilingual.  
Jonathan would pad around, turn the shower off, and then start a skin pampering session. He’d put on some face scrub – _never get the ones with the balls in them Patrick, sheesh. The plastic ones flow into rivers and fish eat them and can die, and any of the balls, whether organic or plastic, can cause micro abrasions on the skin and skin irritation. Love your skin or it won’t love you_ – and then he’d come into the living room. Patrick would glance over at him, and burst into laughter because of the ridiculous face mask the man wore.  
  
Jonathan hated face masks. He only ever wore them to make Patrick smile, because he could never take the man seriously with them on.  
  
Smiling softly at the memory, Patrick blinked some tears from his eyes as he moved to grab his  phone, opening Twitter – remembering it was the first time in a few months.  
  
_Tu me manques mon amour. Venez à la maison bientôt. Nous sommes toujours à la recherche et d'attente._  
  
As the tweet blew up, he sighed and opened it again, trying to remember even more French that Jonathan had taught him.  
  
_S'il vous plaît savoir que partout où vous êtes, vous êtes aimés. On n'a pas encore renoncé à l'espoir._  
  
The tweets blew up almost immediately, and he saw his team mates slowly begin to retweet them before he locked his phone and chucked it gently onto the coffee table. A long shower, get under a blanket and just watch television all afternooon before he took an early night.  
  
That sounded good.  
  
He could take Betsey around the block quickly before he went to bed. Yeah, yeah that sounded like a plan. Maybe he could order some Chinese food too, from P. F. Chang’s. They were just four minutes away, food only took about ten minutes.  
  
Smiling a little bit, Patrick sat up and cracked the top off his Gatorade, chugging some of the cool liquid down before wiping his mouth and standing up to head to the bathroom.  
  
Just as he did, however, he heard the intercom on his door buzz and he groaned a little. He didn’t need a pep talk from Brent right now. Or maybe it was Duncan; or Artemi. Maybe even Trevor coming over to check on him.  
  
Maybe if he ignored them, they’d get the message that he wanted to be left alone.  
  
But as he walked across the room to the bathroom, the buzzer kept going and Patrick decided that that would definitely get annoying. Sighing, he turned around and headed to the front door, grabbing the intercom phone.  
  
What he wasn’t expecting, was his four year missing boyfriend to be staring up at the camera, hood pulled up as high as it would go, face bruised as he whispered a strained, _Patrick… Help me…_ _Please…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I made Artemi's English a little _too_ bad. Lemme know if I did and I'll try and edit it around and make sure I don't do it too bad the next time he pops up.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> _Tu me manques mon amour. Venez à la maison bientôt. Nous sommes toujours à la recherche et d'attente._   
>  **I miss you my love. Come home soon. We are still looking and waiting.**
> 
> _S'il vous plaît savoir que partout où vous êtes, vous êtes aimés. On n'a pas encore renoncé à l'espoir._   
>  **Please know that wherever you are, you are loved. We haven't given up hope yet.**


	3. Chapter 3

Jonathan sat at the table, blinking at the cup of coffee in his hands. It felt too hot, even though it had been sat there for ten minutes. His senses were still completely off; he wasn’t use to the familiar feelings he had grown up with.  
  
He was aware of Patrick sitting across from him, staring at him. He knew if he looked up, his face would be shock and concern – and why wouldn’t he?  
  
Jonathan had lost nearly all of his body weight, more than half, something like two thirds. He was skin and bone. The skin that was on show was a deathly gray, as if something was sucking the colour out of him, leaving him desolate. The hoodie that he wore hung off him, looking as though a child wore it. His jeans had two belts holding them up, and they still needed pulling up constantly. His bare feet were sore, and the bones stuck out, looking as though they might rip the skin if he moved them the wrong way.  
  
He wriggled his toes against the laminate in Patrick’s kitchen. It felt strange under his skin. He didn’t like it.  
  
Crossing his ankles and reangling his feet so that the heel of his bottom foot had a barrier of jeans material between them and the laminate, he finally looked up.  
  
“I was… expecting questions.”  
  
“Jonny I… I don’t know where to start.”  
  
Jonathan nodded and moved his head to looked over at Betsey. She had a full twenty minutes being hyper over the man when he had walked in and was exhausted, asleep in her bed in the corner of the kitchen. Her eyes kept flickering open, as if checking to see Jonathan was still there.  
  
She looked healthy. Patrick had been taking good care of her.  
  
“Thank you… for...” He broke off to take a sip of the warm coffee, scalding his throat in an attempt to lubricate it. “For looking after her.”  
  
“She’s as much my dog as she is yours.” Patrick smiled weakly at him before looking over at Betsey, remembering the day that lost puppy had found her way to Jonathan’s porch, and of course, Jonathan had taken her in and sent Patrick to get dog food.  
  
“I saw your… tweets.”  
  
“The ones I sent last night?”  
  
Jonathan nodded softly and took another sip of coffee, wincing at it. “I didn’t know you still… remembered the French I’d… taught you.”  
  
“When you… Your parents and brother we all sort of… banded together. I’m almost bilingual myself, now.”  
  
“You said we didn’t give… up. You meant my family… I saw the stuff Brent had been saying.” He took another drink, choking on it in pain. Patrick immediately stood up, but Jonathan waved him down.  
  
Patrick hesitated before slowly sinking back into his chair, staring at the wall. “Yeah, Brent… Brent sort of just. Went with what the police said.”  
  
“I saw. Legally dead.”  
  
“But you’re not… unless I… I’m hallucinating this entire thing.”  
  
“I’m here Pat… but I can’t stay for… for long.”  
  
Patrick looked up, his eyes frantic. “Why not?”  
  
“They’re looking for me… already looking.”  
  
“Who’s looking for you?”  
  
Jonathan shrugged helplessly, his head dropping back down to stare into his coffee, swirling slightly from the table’s movements when Patrick had moved.  
  
The truth was, he couldn’t answer that question. He couldn’t answer it because he _didn’t know_.  
  
“They… They seemed to just step out... of the shadows when you left to get a drink. I couldn’t see… couldn’t see anything on them. No… no faces, no clothes… just pitch black figures. They were just staring… at me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away and I kept watching… watching them watch me. I started feeling strange, like… like I’d just drank too much gone off alcohol.” Jonathan blinked. “You came back and I… I looked away. I looked at you and asked if you could… could see them, but you were just staring at my seat in confusion. I was… I was going to ask you what was wrong, and then you called my name.”  
  
Patrick frowned. “You were sitting there the whole time?”  
  
“I… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like I was… and I wasn’t at the same time.”  
  
A noise echoed through to them from the hallway, and Jonathan jumped, looking around frantically. Patrick frowned and reached over, gently touching his hand, rubbing it with his thumb.  
  
“Jonny… Babe… It’s okay.”  
  
“No.. no it’s not okay. They’re already looking for me, they’ll know I’m here soon.” The moment his panic kicked in, his voice returned to him, and he took a breath, feeling stronger. “It was… It was strange, Pat. I was there the first two days, I was in the house with you, I tried to hold you as you cried. My arms would go around you, but… but you could never seem to feel it.”  
  
He bit into his lip.  
  
“They came back for me after… whatever they did for me, and I started running. I just… ran.”  
  
“That’s why you bought the clothes and ran across the rail lines.”  
  
“They caught me in the end and they took me… somewhere. I don’t know where. It was like… it was like this world, it was like Chicago but… everything was just grey. There was barely any colour. Everything there is bland, the temperatures are different… your apartment feels too hot to my skin, it feels like I’m burning. I guess I was there too long and I adjusted.”  
  
“But people have been seeing you. Canada, Europe – I think someone saw you in Tehran! Jonny how does that happen?”  
  
“There are sort of… walls that you can go through. They look like stretched out drops of water in the air, and I would always go through them. They take you out wherever over the world.” He paused. “I’d just come through one when I walked into you yesterday.”  
  
Patrick looked away for a moment before back at the man. “Why did you run?”  
  
“I knew they were following me the moment I stepped back here. I knew if they saw you… they’d want you too. So I ran but then you ran after me, and I had to lose you so they wouldn’t hurt you and-” Tears pricked hot in Jonathan’s eyes and he let go of his cup to fiercely rub at them, taking deep breaths. “They would have taken you too and it’s a horrible world. It’s horrible, it’s horrible.”  
  
“Jonny...”  
  
The man looked up at his boyfriend, and frowned at the expression on his face. “You… You don’t believe me.”  
  
“Jonny, no, no don’t say that. I want to I just… Jonny you have to hear how this sounds to someone that hasn’t… seen the things you have. I’m just trying to comprehend it, that’s all. I believe you, I do, I really do I just… I need some time to think over everything you’ve told me and… let it click into place, I guess.”  
  
Jonathan took a breath, calmer now, and tentatively pressed his foot to the floor again. He still didn’t like it.  
  
“Why would they take you, Jonny?”  
  
The man shuffled in his seat. “Remember I told you about the recurring nightmare of the grey world, the men that would drag me from bed and take me away when I was a kid?”  
  
Patrick nodded, frowning and tapping his chin as he tried to remember the stories that Jonathan had told him. “You always screamed when you saw them coming and either your mom would come, and the nightmare would stop, or she wouldn’t and you’d see the grey world and the people inside it.”  
  
Jonathan swallowed. “It wasn’t a dream. They were taking me there even as a child. One of them told me.”  
  
Patrick blinked a little, concern written on his face. “Jonny we have to go to the police.”  
  
“NO!”  
  
Jonathan was on his feet, instantly aware of the cold wood underfoot, the laminate rubbing uncomfortably against his skin. He breathed heavily and his eyes searched around the room before at Patrick.  
  
“We can’t go to the police, Patrick.”  
  
“Jonathan, someone kidnapped you and you’re alive. They closed your case and declared you legally dead-”  
  
“They’ll hurt me, Patrick.” Jonathan’s tongue flickered out to gently lick his lips. “You see my face?”  
  
Patrick nodded slowly and Jonathan sniffed. “This is what they did to me when they found out my boyfriend had seen me. I’m not allowed to be a part of this world. Not any more. You can’t tell anyone, Pat. Patty-Pat, you can’t tell anyone.”  
  
Patrick stared at him helplessly and slowly stood up, moving over to Jonathan to wrap his arms around him. The man was too small, and Patrick’s arms encircled him easily. The man sagged into him, hands curling in Patrick’s shirt.  
  
“Jonny… you asked me for help. Tell me how I can help you. What can I do? Please just… just tell me.” Patrick’s face was buried in Jonathan’s neck, and the man found the familiar feeling of the man’s lips moving against his skin a comfort. His anxiety levels went down. He felt safe again. This was  _good_. This was  _safe_.  
  
This was  _home_.  
  
Upon the realisation, Jonny smiled a little. Nothing could hurt him here. There was no reason to be so scared. Not anymore. Not when he was with Patrick.  
  
“I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t think they know this is where you live. I tried to avoid it as much as I could when I came to Chicago. I don’t… You see, Pat,” Jonathan started laughing. “I’m smarter than them. I’m so much smarter.”  
  
Patrick was taken aback by the laughter, and it almost scared him, but he sat in the chair beside Jonathan, reaching over to rest his hand on the man’s arm. “Why are you smarter than them, babe?”  
  
Jonathan smiled weakly down at the man before slowly sinking back into his own chair. “They think I wouldn’t come to Chicago if I get a chance to choose where I come – some of the portals or whatever they’re called… you can imagine somewhere and they’ll take you there directly – so they never check Chicago first… but I come here. I come here so often and they have no idea. They won’t come and check Chicago until tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
“That’s… so soon.” Patrick felt like he’d been doused in cold water, and his hand gripped on Jonathan’s arm. “Is there… is there anything I can do to help?”  
  
Jonathan titled his head, starting to hum a little as he drifted into thought. It went on for a moment, and then a minute, and then a few minutes, and Patrick turned to his coffee to drink a little bit.  
  
“Well.”  
  
Patrick jumped out of his skin, not expecting Jonathan to talk so quickly.  
  
“What is it, babe? Anything I can do, mi amor.”  
  
“Do you remember how when there was a storm, we would make a small nest of blankets in the living room, warm some croissants and brioches and then watch some old movies like _Star Wars_ and the original _Star Trek_ series until it passed or until we fell asleep?”  
  
Patrick nodded with a gentle, sad smile.  
  
“Can… Can we do that tonight? I’ve… I’ve missed you every night, every day, every hour, minute and second and I just… I just want us to feel normal again. Even if it is a lie, and even if it’s only for one night. I just- I miss you and I think that’s why I ended up here when I did. I was thinking about you and then I happen to walk through a portal and showed up literally on the doorstep.”  
  
“Is that how you got here? You didn’t stay overnight.”  
  
“No no no… no no nonononono. They took me back last night but one appeared just around the corner from where they keep me and I… I ran for it when no one was around.”  
  
Patrick smiled weakly with a nod before getting up to move across the kitchen, grabbing a plate. “Not much has changed so… why don’t you get the blankets? I’ll be in with the food in a moment.”  
  
Jonathan nodded and eagerly left the room.  
  
When Patrick headed into the living room, he found Jonathan wearing the fluffy owl slippers (they had been an insightful gift – he just had to imagine they were Hawks) his Mother had gotten him at Christmas. It was a cute gift, and the tag attached them with  
  
_Instructions  
  
Imagine these as hawks  
  
That is all_  
  
written on had made him laugh even when he was in such pain over Jonathan not being there for Christmas.  
  
“When did you get these? They’re soft. Fluffy.”  
  
“Mom sent me them for Christmas the year after you… Christmas 2013.”  
  
Jonathan nodded a little and clicked his heels together. “I like them. I don’t… I don’t like how the laminate feels.” He paused a moment, tilting his head. “It’s weird to wear shoes. We don’t wear shoes there.”  
  
Patrick nodded a little and set the plate of warm French treats down on the coffee table before opening Netflix on the television. Jonathan made a grab for a brioche, and both men settled down. Patrick was vaguely aware he was meant to do things, but he didn’t care.  
  
They were barely through the first fifteen minutes of Attack of the Clones when Patrick glanced to his side and stared at Jonathan, asleep already, laying down, face pressed into Patrick’s hip. Patrick couldn’t help himself from snapping a picture and sending it to Brent, captioned _he’s ALIVE_ , before he turned the television off, plummeting the room into darkness.  
  
Jonathan seemed to shuffle in his sleep, moving around a little, but Patrick barely noticed it as he lay down, wrapping his arm around Jonathan’s hips, holding him tightly.  
  
So tight, he was sure that nothing could take Jonathan from his side.  
  
Not this time.  
  
Not again.

**Author's Note:**

> _As I said in my last post, if I have Betsey's gender wrong, do let me know! Politely, if you would please. Also, I cannot find what breed Betsey is for the life of me, so that knowledge would also be appreciated!_
> 
> _Any comments and kudos are highly appreciated._


End file.
